


Descent into Destruction

by Mystique426



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystique426/pseuds/Mystique426
Summary: Nethrei Creed, a tiefling born and raised in the fifth layer of the Hells, suddenly finds himself on the Material Plane. Ar'Tarian, a minotaur whose spent most of his years fighting, mourns the loss of a dear friend and wonders what to do next with his life. Thariel Teldrek, a young dragonborn, is making her way out into the world and discovering the harsh realities it harbors. How do these three come together to reshape the world around them?This is a story based on characters made for a Dungeons and Dragons campaign that spectacularly went up in flames. Nethrei Creed and Ar'Tarian are not mine, but their backstories and personalities are as accurate to their players' portrayals as possible. This story is not based on the campaign in any way except the characters.
Kudos: 1





	1. Game, Set. . .

"Checkmate." The grizzled minotaur sat back and crossed his arms, a friendly grin stretching across his greying snout. The elven gentleman across from him seemed shocked for a moment before also leaning back with a smile.

"I'll have to admit, I'm impressed. Not many others can last more than twenty turns against me, let alone wipe the floor with me like that," he said, grabbing the pint from beside the Dragonchess board and taking a large gulp of its contents. "Where did you learn those skills, my friend?"

"There was a friend of mine who was good at Dragonchess. I took her up on her offer to teach me one day," the minotaur said, reflecting back on fond memories. Suddenly, there was another voice beside him; it was smooth and regal, with an air of importance.

"Well, I hope your mentor was as good as mine," this new voice said. Its source was a tiefling man with pale navy blue skin and bright white slicked back between bone-white horns topped with caps - one silver, and one hammered iron, each one intricately inlaid with gold - and decorated with garnet-encrusted hoops and intricately carved clasps. He had a simple saphire stud earring in his right ear. He wore a simple eyepatch over his left eye, and his leather armor was dyed a navy blue color. A pair of leathery wings rested half-open against his back, and a set of twin tails could be seen twitching playfully along the ground. "Sorry to interrupt your chat, but I would love to play a game against the old brute here. No offense."

The minotaur took a moment to answer, eyeing the creature in front of him. This man wasn't the strangest thing he'd ever seen by far, but the intrigue he felt couldn't be suppressed.

"Sure, I'll play against you," he paused briefly. "But, only if you tell me your name first." The tiefling took a step back from the booth and gave a deep flourishing bow, extending his wings and right arm.

"Nethrei Creed, at your service." His single glowing orange eye met the minotaur's once again.

"Ar'Tarian, but my friends just call me Ar'T." The old minotaur turned to the elven gentleman. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all," he responded, standing from his seat. "I should get going anyway; it's nearly dark, and the missus will be looking for me." He made his way out of the noisy bar, and Nethrai took his seat across from Ar'T. The game began simple enough; it seemed the two were evenly matched.

"I suppose I should be honest here; I didn't simply come over here to play a game with you," Nethrei admitted, delicately placing his pawn into place. "No, I'm after some information, and I believe you can help me."

"What could I possibly know that would help you?" Ar'T asked, sliding his knight to defend.

"I was told you might know something about a mercenary band in this city. . .the Dragon's Wrath?" Nethrei pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and slid it across the table; on it was accurately drawn the symbol of a hammer with horns protruding from either side.

"Where did you hear that name?" Ar'Tarian asked as his furry eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Nethrei chuckled softly as his bishop pushed up. "Let's say for now a little birdie flew by and whispered it in my ear."

Ar'T hesitated and sacrificed a pawn to Nethrei. "What did you want to know?"

"I'm looking for a certain someone among their ranks by the name of Vylhana, a half-elven caster. I heard she was quite skilled with her magic, and I was hoping to learn a thing or two from her," Nethrei explained. "I was told you were quite familiar with the more. . .prominent members."

"I haven't spoken to Vylhana in nearly ten years," Ar'T said flatly, trying to ignore the memories bubbling up in the back of his mind. "I don't recommend you do, either. She's not someone who can be trusted."

"Oh? How interesting. . .I suppose my sources must be outdated," sighed Nethrei as he confidently pushed his queen forward. "From what I understood, you were rather comfortable with the top brass. What changed?"

"I. . .I'm not sure," said Ar'T sadly, absentmindedly moving his rook. "I wasn't there when it happened."

"When _what_ happened?" eagerly pressed the tiefling. Ar'T remained silent, staring at the board in front of him. Nethrei sighed and moved his queen once more.

"That will be checkmate, I'm afraid," he said, disappointment dripping from his words. "I did hope you could be more useful to me." He stood and began to walk away when Ar'T reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him.

"I'll tell you, if you wouldn't mind coming with me. There's something I need to show you to tell this story," Ar'T said slowly, standing from the booth. Nethrei smiled and turned to face the minutaor towering several feet above him.

"You have yourself a deal, my friend."


	2. Legacy Lost

Ar'Tarian and Nethrei emerged from the Blushing Mermaid and into the bustling streets of the Lower City of Baulder's Gate. It was late in the afternoon, so the streets were filled with people rushing off to destinations unknown. Ar'T took the lead - having grown up and lived in the city his entire life, it was second-nature to navigate the twisting alleyways. Eventually, the pair came to a large barn-like structure in the Brampton district.

"I don't suppose you've taken me here to try to secretly off me and dispose of my body, have you?" Nethrei laughed nervously as Ar'T slid the door open, revealing the one-roomed home to be empty and sparsely decorated. It contained a straw mat for sleeping, a greataxe leaning near the doorway, and a broken old shield hanging on the far wall.

"No. You wanted to know what happened, so I'm going to tell you," Ar'T explained. He gestured for Nethrei to sit somewhere on the floor as he began preparing a pot of lavender tea for the two of them. "My memory isn't as good as it used to be, so some of the details are a bit fuzzy," he said as he poured the tea into cups and handed one to Nethrei. Before seating himself next to his tiefling guest, he removed the broken wooden shield from its place on the wall and carried it over with him. Ar'T continued, "Vylhana was one of the three Lieutenants underneath the Captain, Astith. Vylhana and the other two, Caeser and Zira, turned against her; they lured her into an ambush and she died alone by their hands. . .I don't know which one of them actually killed her, but they all had something to do with it." Ar'Tarian turned the shield in his hands, staring wistfully down at the cracked wooden shield. He held it up to Nethrei and said, "She was using this when they ambushed her. I found it. . .after," his voice trailed off softly.

Nethrei thought for a few moments, reflecting in Ar'T's silence before speaking, "You're obviously familiar with your Captain's killers. Did you not pursue them when you figured out what they did?"

Ar'T shook his head, his shaggy mane waving with the movements. "I don't like killing for no reason; if I'm going to be shedding any blood, it's only going to be the one that actually killed Astith."

"That's even _more_ of a reason to pursue them! You hunt them down and you make them tell you who did it, then you can kill the one they agree upon," Nethrei said giddily. "That's just my opinion on the matter, though."

"I'm not so sure about that. . ." Ar'T said, looking down at the shield again.

"Oh come now, it'll be a worthwhile endeavor to avenge her. I'll even help you!" Nethrei touched his hand to his chest. "You should be honored to have a Prince of the Hells accompany you."

"Prince of the Hells?"

"Oh, did I not mention?" Nethrei gave a sharp smirk and flicked a few stray hairs away from his face. "I was born and raised right in the Hells. My father is a rather prominent devil there; in fact, there's not a soul in Stygia who doesn't know his title."

"Oh. . .well good for you, I think," Ar'T said, considering Nethrei's words carefully. "I'm not sure how that's supposed to help, though."

Nethrei took a long sip of his tea, a low chuckle escaping his throat. "At least some of father's lessons have stuck after years of boorish study. My simple friend, I possess skills that are beyond your comprehension." With a flick of his wrist through the air, bright blue sparks flew from the tips of his fingers and drifted slowly down before disappearing again.

Ar'T felt something in the back of his mind urging him onward, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about this person.

"What would you get out of all of this? You didn't know any of them," he asked. "This isn't your fight to finish."

"No, it certainly isn't," Nethrei responded swiftly, "but revenge is my specialty. Think of it this way: I'll help you now, and when we're finished here you'll help me find someone else to answer my questions."

Ar'T sat thoughtfully for a few minutes, running his fingers over the cracks in the shield. The desire to finally know the truth overcame the anxiety of confronting his once close allies as enemies, and he met Nethrei's eye with a cold and determined gaze.

"I know where we can start, then," he said, pulling himself up slowly. "We're going to the Helm and Cloak. We were often hired by nobles and merchants, so we would hang around where they liked to be." As he spoke, he grabbed the greataxe from beside the door, and he also pulled a sheathed greatsword from beneath the straw mat. He hesitated as he went to put the shield back in its place on the wall, and instead decided to bring the shield with him as well. Nethrei stood as well, brushing dirt from himself and straightening his armor. Ar'T led Nethrei out of the barn and back into the busy streets of Baulder's Gate.


	3. Strange Tidings

As the pair made their way into the Temple District of the wealthier Upper City, they received odd looks from the mostly-human pedestrians around them. Ar'T was used to these looks and pressed onward; Nethrei took the opportunity and left an impression on as many individuals as he could, waving and winking -as much as a one-eyed tiefling _can_ \- at passersby who stared him down. One man gave Nethrei a disgusted look and muttered something under his breath before moving along.

"I'll be seeing you later!" Nethrei called out after him, laughing as the man quickened his pace. Ar'T continued to lead the pair through the busy city streets until they reached the Helm and Cloak. It was oddly comforting and simultaneously unsettling to be stepping inside the walls where he once laughed and drank tea with his fellow mercenaries. He looked around the traditionally and elegantly decorated tavern, searching for any familiar faces. Nethrei sauntered up to the tavern's prominently-displayed marble carving of a unicorn's head with a bronze horn, inspecting it thoroughly.

"How gaudy," he remarked, running his finger along the length of the horn. "Some people have no taste in _real_ decor.'"

"We're not here for that," Ar'T responded, his eyes scanning the room for a familiar face. At the bar he spots it; Darren, a human with a long, braided beard who worked directly under Astith as a tracker. He seemed to be absentmindedly drinking from the mug before him, his eyes looking at something beyond his reflection. Ar'T tried approaching slowly, but still the older man with salt and pepper hair lept as if dealt a violent shock when he heard Ar'T's voice.

"Darren, it's good to see you." He sat next to the man as he attempted to collect his composure, offering the minotaur a stern gaze. 

"It'd be better to see you if you hadn' jus' near killed me," Darren complained gruffly, taking a large gulp of ale. "I haven' seen you in months - no' tha' I can blame you. There aren' many who stuck around af'er everything tha' wen' down."

"Why did you stay then?" Ar'T asked.

Darren shrugged his shoulders. "The money, really. Ain' no be'er way for a man like me to earn a living."

"What happened after I left?" he wondered. Ar'T's former comrade gave a curt laugh.

"Everything fell apar' ou' from under 'em," Darren explained. "Vylhana and Caesar were a' each other's throa's about who was going 'o take over. Zira sided with Vylhana bu' mos' of us who were still around stood by Caesar, so they took off for Waterdeep 'o star' over there. Been pre'y quie' ever since, and I can' say I miss them."

"They just left? They didn't take anyone with them?"

""Of course there were a few who though' they'd fare be'er in a new place, but Vylhana defini'ely wasn' the mos' _liked_ of the bunch," Darron responded, taking another large gulp from his mug. "Don' ge' me wrong - Ceaser can be a righ' dirty sonofabi'ch, but only when he needs to be."

"Yeah, I remember," Ar'T said, reflecting back on his early times with the Dragon's Wrath mercenary group. Caesar was an elven man who preferred heavier weapons and armor for close-quarters combat; he and Ar'T spent many hours sparring together. After one particularly brutal session of Caesar wailing on Ar'T's head with the wooden training sword, he then spent the next hour lecturing the minotaur on his stances and movements. Ar'T ended that day with a bruised body, but took the harsh words as encouragement to improve himself.

The sun was beginning to set at this point, so Ar'T excused himself and began walking out of the tavern. He turned his head to address Darren one final time and said, "If you ever feel like you need a change of pace, there's no shame in retirement," as he continued back towards Nethrei, who had been quite busy intruding on a game of poker - and winning spectacularly. He noticed Ar'T's approach and gave a curt bow to the men he had been playing with.

"I have rather enjoyed my time with you all, but I must take my leave," he said with a devious sparkle in his eye. He was met with a combination of grunts and half-hearted salutations as he pocketed a large pile of gold.

As they exited the Helm and Cloak discussing their plan to move forward, Nethrei collided with someone standing idly in the street; his cursing could hardly be heard over the sounds of metal scraping metal and colliding with the cobblestone street.

"Who in the _Hells_ thinks it's a good idea to stand around in the street?!" he spat, sitting up quickly to see who he had run into. A lanky copper dragonborn girl wearing plate armor draped in purple and blue cloths sat up next to him, rubbing her head at the base of her horns.

"Sorry," she muttered quickly. "This city is so confusing; I needed to try to get my bearings."

"Sorry or not," Nethrei started, brushing himself off as he stood, "you should at least _try_ not to get in the way of people with places to go, yes?"

"Well excuse me, I'll be on my way then." Seeming put off, the girl hoisted herself up and began walking away.

"Wait," Ar'T said, stepping towards her. "Where are you trying to go? I know the city pretty well." She hesitated a moment before turning to look back at him.

"I'm looking for my father, Tazroth Volther," she said, her bright green eyes searching for ill intent in the minotaur's actions. "I heard he moved to somewhere in the Upper City of Baulder's Gate."

"I know of a place called 'Portraits by Volther'," he responded. "Would that be him?"

"Yes! Where can I find it?" she exclaimed as her face lit up.

"We're going to be passing nearby on our way back. Would you like me to show you?" Ar'T offered.

"If you don't mind, I'd love help finding the place," she responded. Ar'T began walking in the opposite direction the girl was originally headed; Nethrei sighed and flicked some stray hairs from his face but said nothing in protest as this strange, heavily armored dragonborn followed them across town.

"Thanks for showing me the way, uh," the dragonborn began, trying to speak above the noise of passing carts and merchants on the street hawking their wares.

"Ar'Tarian, but you can call me Ar'T" he said cheerily. "And that's Nethrei." Ar'T gestured to the tiefling accompanying them.

"Thanks for helping me, Ar'T," she said. "My name is Thariel."

"Well Thariel, you looked awfully lost for someone looking for their father," Nethrei chimed in, examining her features closely as she responded.

"Oh, I've never been to Bauldur's Gate before," she said carefully, averting her gaze. "I was training in Waterdeep when he moved. I've just finished actually, and wanted to go home for a bit."

"Really?" Nethrei smirked. "I wonder why he would just up-and-go without telling his own daughter?"

"He's a very busy man," Thariel replied curtly, her expression hardening.

"Yes, I know the type," Nethrei sighed, sidling up beside her. "Distant yet demanding with a presence that simply can't be ignored. They're an unfortunately common breed."

"Are they?" Thariel's voice was flat and her gaze was fixated on the road ahead of them, her attention seemingly focused inward.

"You said you had been training," Ar'T interjected, pulling her outward again. "What were you training for?" Thariel pulled a necklace out from beneath her tunic and displayed an amulet engraved with a set of balanced scales resting atop a warhammer - the holy symbol of Tyr, the god of justice.

"The priests and paladins at the Halls of Justice taught me the basics of close combat, and I've started learning a bit of magic too," she explained.

Nethrei chucked and sighed. "The gods can be so fickle, and War gods are no exception; I wonder what makes _their_ bloodshed so righteous?"

"Their actions are just and true," snapped Thariel. "They work to reveal the truth, punish the guilty, and right the wrong. Mortals like us couldn't even begin to understand the duties and responsibilities of the gods."

"Would you look at that, Ar'T? She can speak on command, too," Nethrei teased. Thariel looked like she wanted to argue back, but the kindly minotaur placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Just ignore him," he said. "We're here anyway."

The trio stood before a two-story, dark olive-colored building with black shutters and a heavy mahogany door. The windows were simple glass panes through which soft candlelight spilled out onto the walkway. A large rectangular sign with the words 'Portraits by Volther" in fancy calligraphy on both sides swung gently in the evening breeze.

"Thanks again for showing me the way here," Thariel said, turning towards Ar'T.

"It was no trouble at all. I hope things work out in there," he responded. With one last smile, Thariel took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

As she was walking away, Nethrei pulled Ar'T to the side of the building.

"What are we doing back here?" Ar'T asked as he attempted to crouch behind a bush.

"You're giving me some cover," Nethrei smirked. "You continue on to the inn, I'll meet you there. This girl is hiding something interesting, and I'm going to find out what it is." Before Ar'T could ask him to elaborate, Nethrei's form shimmered and disappeared as if he were never standing there to begin with.

Ar'T could hear footsteps walking away and softly called out "You should be quieter, I can still hear you! It won't work if you're too loud." There was an audible sigh followed by the gentle * _click. . .click_ * of a door slipping open and shut again.


	4. Ashes to Ashes. . .

The interior of the portrait painter's shop was warmly lit by a small chandelier. A couple of chairs and an empty easel are stacked next to a door left ajar across the room. There are sample portraits hanging around the room, each one with a unique landscape background. However, one of the paintings was just of a landscape itself, one that Thariel had seen many times in her life: the steep, rolling hills casting deep shadows on Castle Waterdeep below it, with a large stone Griffon standing proud with wings aloft at the peak. She reached out towards it, momentarily overwhelmed by memories of taking strolls past the castle with her younger brother and older sister, unaware of the invisible tiefling leering over her shoulder. Suddenly there was a soft voice calling out from the next room over.

"Sorry, but I'm closed for the day." A green dragonborn woman stepped out from behind the door across the way, a set of dirty brushes in hand. "You'll have to -" she stopped abruptly, the brushes clattering to the floor. 

"Lohseteth," Thariel breathed, her face relaxing into a relieved expression. "I -" Before Thariel could say another word, the woman stormed across the room towards her.

"You've got some nerve just _showing up_ here," Lohseteth spat angrily. "Not a word when you left to _anyone_? Seriously?!"

"Wha -" dumbfounded, Thariel tried to interject, but Lohseteth continued.

"I know father and I weren't your real family, but what about Sho? How could you just abandon him? Did you consider what that would do to him? To _any_ of us? Did you care?!"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Thariel protested, holding her hands out in front of her. "Lohse, what are you talking about?"

"How could you be so selfish?" she continued, her jaw clenched tightly. "Was the temple really worth it to you?"

"Lohse, I. . ." Thariel hesitated, her hands clenched tightly into fists behind her. "I didn't choose to leave when I did."

"Oh, _that's_ rich," Lohseteth scoffed. "You spent years telling me how badly you wished you could be a Paladin. You expect me to believe you wouldn't run off to chase your dreams at a moment's notice?"

"Let me talk to father," Thariel pleaded. "Where is he?" Before Lohseteth could respond, a small male voice could be heard from behind her.

"Thar. . .?" A young copper dragonborn covered in a pockmarked pattern of green scale patches stepped out of the backroom hesitantly. He burst into tears when he saw the young woman standing in the studio and rushed forward, throwing his arms around her middle. Thariel began tearing up, gingerly wrapping her arms around the boy. She looked up to Lohseteth, still standing beside the door, her jaw clenched tightly.

"He's upstairs," she said curtly, turning on her heel and disappearing back into the doorway she came from. Thariel gave the young boy a big squeeze before taking him by the hand and following after her.

 _Delicious,_ Nethrei thought as he crept up behind the trio. He followed them up to a long hallway above the studio with two doors on the left and one on the right: the two on the left are propped open, and one seems to lead to a room of unfinished portraits while the other seems to be a well-decorated office with shelves of books; the door on the right is closed, Lohseteth standing beside it.

Thariel's heart was pounding as she approached the closed door. She heard a soft whimper beside her and looked down at her younger brother; he was still crying and clinging to her hand.

"Y-you're not going to leave again," he sniffed, "right, Thar. . .?" Thariel kneeled down and gave the boy a bear hug.

"No matter what happens, know that I love you, Sho," she whispered to him. He gave her a big hug back before she stood once again and placed her hand on the doorknob, feeling the chill of the metal work its way through the warm flesh of the palm of her hand. She took a deep breath and swung the door open. She stepped into the large office space, ignoring what she assumed was the breeze of the door swinging shut behind her; a chandelier similar to the one downstairs brightly illuminated the sparsely decorated walls, and shelves of books seemed to dominate the space. A small fire burns away in a stone fireplace off the right of the room. There was a large green rug covering most of the hardwood floor except for a couple of feet around the perimeter of the room. A heavy-looking dark oak desk was sitting in the center of the room with two large overstuffed chairs placed a few feet behind it to overlook the city from a large bay window. Sitting at the desk, head buried in his paperwork, was a tall dragonborn with dark green scales wearing a simple yet elegant set of red robes with gold and silver trimmings. Silence filled the room for a few moments. His eyes barely looked up from his pages before he spoke at last.

"Was your stint at the temple not everything you had dreamed it would be?" Sarcasm was evident in his tone, and Thariel clenched her fists beside her to attempt to slow the swell of rage bubbling up in her chest.

"Father Demascus and the others at the Halls were more than happy to guide me," she said cooly. "I learned a lot from them."

"Does Father Demascus know you're here?" Tazroth set his quill atop the stack of papers and folded his hands before him, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk.

"Yes, though he strongly protested this. . . _visit_ ," she responded curtly.

"Interesting," he said, an almost-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth; an almost-smile Thariel had seen many times before, and it still sent a shiver running down her spine. "If he can't uphold his end of the bargain, then I am no longer obligated to uphold mine." He gathered the papers before him and stood, crossing the room to stand before the fire.

"Wait, bargain? What bargain?" Thariel began to hesitantly step forward.

"Irrelevant now," Tazroth responded before tossing the entire stack into the flames.

"What are you doing?!" Thariel exclaimed, rushing towards the fire. She went to try to snatch what was left of the pages being quickly eaten away but was stopped by her father's foot crushing her hand into the floor. She grit her teeth and looked up at him.

"Why did you do that?!"

"My financials are not your concern," he growled, scowling down at her. "Where are your manners, girl? Have you forgotten what I taught you?" Thariel opened her mouth to respond, but caught movement out of the corner of her eye that stopped her words in their tracks - the pages were being slowly pulled from the fire, put out, and disappearing into thin air.

 _Ssshh,_ something whispered in her ear as she noticed this. She looked back up to her father, his foot still on her hand.

"No. . .sir. I haven't forgotten _anything_ ," she said through a clenched jaw. 

"Very good," Tazroth said, removing his foot from the back of her hand. "Then we're done here. Go back to whatever home you've made for yourself; there isn't one for you here." He stared down at the young girl expectantly, but she met his gaze defiantly and stood toe-to-toe with the man she called her father.

"Don't expect this to be the last you see of me. I won't be taken and thrown aside, something to be forgotten," Thariel snarled, standing tall to get in his face. "I'm still here, and the whole damn world is going to know." She turned and stormed out, slamming the door open against the inner wall of the office. She saw Lohseteth and Sho standing in the hallway; Lohseteth wouldn't look at her, and Sho was gripping his eldest sister's hand tightly. Thariel knelt before Sho again and took something from her pocket. Taking his free hand, she pressed a ruby amulet on a golden chain into it.

"Mom gave this to me a long time ago. Can you keep this safe for me until I come back?" she asked, watching the light of recognition dance across his eyes as he looked at the amulet.

"Mom's necklace? Are you sure?" he asked, nervously looking at the trinket.

"You're the only man for the job, Sho." She smiled warmly as he threw his arms around her neck. "Don't worry, you'll see me again soon." Thariel stood and looked to her sister, who was looking down at the floor.

"I'm sorry." Lohseteth raised her head to look at Thariel as she finally spoke. "We'll talk soon." Thariel nodded.

"We'll talk soon," she said, embracing the woman her older sister had become in her absence. She then made her way downstairs and back out into the dark city streets bustling with the nightlife. She numbly made her way through the main fairways until she found a dark, secluded alley to slip down. She went far behind some old brick warehouses before dropping to her hands and knees, unleashing a bestial cry of agony into the silent, cloudy sky. She collapsed into a screaming, sobbing mess against one of the cold walls, wondering why her chest felt so burdened.


End file.
